Lawrence, Kansas
by if-llamas-could-fly
Summary: 'Lawrence, Kansas is not a famous place, it is not flocked to by tourists. It is not, but it should be.' The small town, with a big story. One-shot, rated T for extreme angst.


**A/N Oh my Gosh guys. I am having a freaking overload of fanfic idea that are all demanding to be written at the same time. it's like the opposite of writer's block, and somehow even worse. damn my hyperactive brain. I honestly have no clue what the hell I was doing with this fic, it just happened, and I liked it, so, yeah. Oh, and CHARACTER DEATH PEOPLE. Sorry, i hate writing them, but, like i said, my mind just ejected this shit onto my computer and I'm posting this before I change my mind. Anyway, enjoy! :) **_~Sammy_

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Lawrence, Kansas is not a famous place, it is not flocked to by tourists. It is not, but it should be.

It should be a place of worship, a place where the greatest of sacrifices are respected. It is a place where the believers should shed tears, should pray for the souls of the departed saviors.

All the attention that this holy land deserves is wasted on the mundane, its residents wandering about, happily oblivious to their loss.

It started in tainted blood, raging fire, screams, shouts, crying infants and promises to exact revenge.

It continued with lost childhoods, rough words, arguments, bloodshed, and an obsession with what is better left alone.

It moved forward with farewells, tears, abandonment, and three lonely souls.

It progressed with absent leaders, broken vows, haunting pasts, and every chance at normalcy burnt to ashes in yet another all consuming fire.

More half smiles, exasperated sighs, teasing insults, and dust flying under the wheels of their black walled Home.

Then there were fathers without heartbeats, secrets revealed, burdens carried, and more fire dancing an evil dance.

Brothers were lost, demons were killed, deals were made, and single years were left till hell arrived.

Hell came, Hell went, angels flew, habits were discovered, and fates were set in stone.

The Devil rose, Heaven pulled at the puppet strings, halos were abandoned, Grace was taken away, and the rebels kept revolting.

Horsemen were conquered, rings were collected, Satan confronted, and brotherly bonds were torn to shreds.

Plans were made, Yes was said, Devil was overcome, Pit was opened, and one brother screamed in Hell, while the other wept on Earth.

The brothers face soullessness, betrayals, flashbacks, shattered walls, lost friends, and broken trust.

They faced new kinds of monsters, new kinds of lies, new kinds of deceit, new kinds of rifts in their faith.

There was Purgatory, the gates of Hell, the tyranny of Heaven, tablets of Demons and Angels alike, and trials that are His Word.

They faced so much, and more, and somehow they landed up again, where it all begun, in that sleepy little town.

They fought their battles, and came out on the top, yet it grew to be too much for even the strongest, the most blessed (or cursed, it depends on your point of view) mortal shoulders to bear,and escape was their only reward.

The Gates of Hell are shut, the angels are locked into heaven, the Earth is free of the agony caused by the two sides trying to rule over it. They are free, but what is the cost of freedom?

Two brothers, closer than any brothers before them. Two brothers who went through Hell and back. Two brothers who fought the word of Heaven. Two brothers who loved and lost and carried on. Two brothers who were broken more times than anyone deserves. Two brothers who were everything that humanity was meant to be, and so much more.

They drove, when it was over, in that special car of theirs. They left her parked in a corner of a cemetery _the_ cemetery, _their cemetery. _They sat on her warm black hood, beers in their hands, rare smiles on their faces, watching the stars fly by in silence.

They never stopped watching the stars, the beautiful silence between them never lifting.

It is said, in certain circles of life, that in that cemetery, a once-glorious car is collecting dust and unshed tears. It is said that the cemetery has no spirits, be them vengeful or kindred. It is said that there were two pyres built up, the flames dancing, the ash floating about to become one with the world it had saved so many times.

It is said that sometimes, there is a stranger, in the cemetery Sometimes he stands in front of the rusted car, his electric blue eyes dimmed, his trench coat rustling, his messy hair sticking up at odd angles. Sometimes he just stands there for hours, whispering apologies and 'thank-you's. Sometimes he sheds tears. Sometimes he disappears with a flutter and a sob.

Sometimes, just sometimes, the laughter of two broken men echoes is the wind.

Lawrence, Kansas is not a famous place, it is not flocked to by tourists. It is not, but it should be.

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**A/N I am so so so sorry. You know the drill, shout at me for causing you despair, if you want to, in a review. Or, alternately just go curl up in a corner and weep. :) **_~Sammy_


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